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“This may not be the best time to mention it, but how certain are you of this tip?” Dawkins asked as they got to the door and she readied her weapon.
“Dead certain,” Kirk said, and kicked in the door. “Police!”
The detectives entered quickly and proceeded to check the house. “Clear,” Dawkins said.
“Clear,” Kirk said, and the detectives holstered their weapons.
“When I checked the kitchen, I saw a door with a padlock on it,” Dawkins said and headed in that direction.
“Right behind you,” Kirk said, trailing behind her and admiring the way her ass swung.
When they went in the kitchen, Kirk was about to take out his tension wrench to pick the lock, but Dawkins beat him to it. When she had it opened, the detectives once again drew their weapons and proceeded into the basement.
Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, the detectives knew that they were in the right place. Kirk raised the flashlight and saw that there was a bed in the corner of the room with handcuffs and leg irons attached to it. There were blood stains on the sheets, and droplets on the floor leading to a sink that was stained with blood.
“Look at this,” Dawkins said as she shined her light on a wall that was covered with pictures of young girls.
“This guy’s been at this a long time,” Kirk said and stared at the pictures. Some of them were taken recently and those included the seven murdered girls that they were assigned. But it was clear that some were taken years ago. Some of the girls had torn clothing on, while others were naked, and most had visible signs of the abuse they had suffered.
“I’m gonna call and get a team down here,” Dawkins said and was reaching for her phone when Kirk stopped her.
“No, don’t call them,” he said, still staring at the pictures.
“What do you wanna do?” Dawkins asked.
“Wait for the bastard to come back.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“What are we gonna do about the door?” Dawkins asked as they came out of the basement and headed for the door.
“Get to him before he gets to it,” Kirk said and closed the door as best he could behind them. The detectives walked back up the street to their car, got in and then they waited.
Waited for hours.
With nothing else to do, they talked about the case for the first couple of hours. During that time, they were able to get some information about their suspect. The house was owned by a Mrs. Juanita Anderson, deceased, who was survived by three children, Jenifer, Sheila and a son; Fredrick.
“Whose whereabouts are currently unknown,” Dawkins began. “And have been unknown since being released from prison after serving five years for a rape conviction.”
“That’s our guy,” Kirk said calmly, but he was burning inside and had been since he stood in front of that wall and looked at those pictures. He couldn’t wait to catch this guy, and Dawkins knew it. The fact that he didn’t want her to call it in and the look in his eyes and on his face told her that she needed to watch her new partner and be prepared to have his back.
“So, why’d you become a cop?” Dawkins asked
“It’s a long dull story.”
“We seem to have plenty of time.”
“You really wanna know?”
“Yeah.” Dawkins leaned toward him and smiled. “I wanna know you, William,” she said and as promised, Kirk went into a long dull story about the neighborhood he grew up in and wanting to make a difference.
“What about you, Rachael, why’d you become a cop?”
Dawkins sat back. “I needed a job.”
“That’s it?”
“I know it’s not as lofty and noble a reason as yours, but that’s it.”
